A Dish Served Cold
by bongosolo
Summary: Jeffrey becomes obsessed with finding Drake, endangering his own future.  Chapter three is up 1-3-11.  Reviews welcome and encouraged!  Rating changed to T for incidental violence.
1. Chapter 1

**"A Dish Served Cold"**

Chapter One – Just after "The Trial of Phineas Bogg."

_"I used to love going to the beach, Bogg. But now it seems like I always have sand in my shoes."_

_Twelve year old Jeffrey Jones stood up and stretched, having re-laced his white Nikes. He brushed some sand from his lap and looked down the shore. "Could we at least get off the dunes and figure out why we're here?"_

_Phineas Bogg flashed him a lopsided grin. Once again, Jeff found himself wondering how this guy ever made it through a day as a pirate. He had a goofy side that seemed to get him into trouble more often than it got him out of it. "C'mon kid, it's not so bad. The wind in your hair, the waves breaking…there are a lot worse places to land."_

_Jeff knew that Bogg was in a fairly sunny mood anyway, after how the last few days had turned out. Things could have ended up much worse. As he watched Bogg shake some sand from his hair, he could understand why the older Voyager was keeping a positive spin on things. If the tribunal had turned out differently, Bogg might have ended up banished to a deserted island. Ending up at the beach probably would have been the equivalent of torture for Jeff if that had happened. At least, in the here and now, Bogg seemed to be enjoying himself. At least one of them was._

_The midday sun glinted off the omni as Bogg pulled it from his belt in a smooth, almost fluid motion. He flipped it open and Jeff caught a glimpse of blinking red glow. "Eastern Australia, 1799. What do you think?" He offered Jeff a look at the display._

_"Off the top of my head, I can't think of anything that can help us. I just don't know that much about Australian history."_

_"That's a first. Aren't you supposed to be my guidebook?"_

_Jeff turned his face and clenched a fist. Didn't Bogg know how close they came to separation? How could he be so casual about it? Not wanting to say anything he might regret, he dug his toe into the sand before spinning away and starting to walk._

_"Hey!" Bogg started after him. "What's the matter? It usually takes more than a little sand in your clothes to get you so riled up." Jeff kept walking. He wasn't ready to talk yet. As much as he liked to put on a show of being grown-up, he had to admit there were times when he couldn't control his emotions. It bugged him. He felt immature, childish. There were no other kids around to compare himself to, but from traveling through time and occasionally seeing "normal" kids, he felt torn. Sure, sometimes he wished for childhood experiences; but usually he just wanted to fast-forward to adulthood. If only the omni had a way to make him grow up faster. But since that didn't seem possible, he was left to figure things out on his own. Especially at times like these, when Bogg seemed clueless._

_Finally, Bogg caught up and got in front of him. "What's gotten into you? We're back out in the field, together. Isn't that what you wanted?"_

_Jeff let out a breath. "You know I do." The anger at his mentor fizzled as he looked up into Bogg's caring face. Suddenly, he felt like he might cry. Which made him a little angry again, but not at Bogg. "But Drake is…out there!" He gestured wildly at the sea. "What are we going to do?"_

_Bogg tilted his head as he looked down and put a hand on Jeff's shoulder. He gave his best everything-will-be-okay face and said, "Jeffrey, don't worry. We don't have to do anything – that's not our job."_

_"It IS our job!" Jeff yelled as he stamped a foot into the sand. "Wherever that jerk goes, he's going to mess everything up! And did you forget that he has it in for you?"_

_"No, of course I didn't forget," Bogg replied, looking down the beach. "But Voyager Headquarters will have people out there looking for him."_

_"They should have banished him."_

_"They would have…"_

_"If he hadn't escaped," Jeff finished the thought. "We can't just let him get away, Bogg." He looked up with pleading eyes, and Bogg wanted to do something – anything – to help his friend. But there wasn't a whole lot to be done at this moment. Jeff was right; Drake was out there somewhere. Here in 1799 Australia however, the red light was their priority. They had to turn their attention to the task at hand._

_"Jeff, you're right. Drake will be out there changing history. He won't just fade away – he will do whatever he thinks will serve his "cause." Wherever things are going off-course, there's a chance that Drake will be there. He can be found. He will be found. And if we find him together, I promise you we will stop him."_

_For a moment Jeffrey's eyes bored into his, and then the boy broke into a smile. "Maybe I'll find him first. I am faster than you, you know."_

_Bogg smiled back. "Oh, I don't think so – Jeffrey!" he yelled as Jeff took off into the vegetation beside the beach. As he sprinted to catch up, it crossed his mind that the kid really was fast. He hoped there weren't any predators out in the brush, or sudden cliffs to fall from, or…_

_"Bogg!" came the call from up ahead. Recognizing that tone of voice, Bogg strained to run faster. As much as he cared about Jeffrey, the kid had a knack for making him worry. Probably because he seemed to attract trouble like a magnet just as often as he fixed whatever red light they faced. "Bat's breath!" he hissed involuntarily as he rounded a bend, then nearly tumbled over as he came face to face with a group of soldiers with asian features. He saw Jeffrey on the ground, surrounded._

_"You okay, kid?"_

_"Yeah, so far. I think I found our red light."_


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two – Virginia, 1607

Jeffrey awoke suddenly, frantically brushing away the leftover images of the asian soldiers as if they were still standing around him. He could clearly remember the rush of fear when the soldiers drew their immaculately crafted and utterly lethal weapons in his direction. He could still feel the sharp points of the glimmering swords as they surrounded him on that day 13 years ago. Or, 192 years from now, as it were.

Regardless of the confusion inherent in being a time-traveler, those moments were with him as much now at 25 years old as they had been at 12. Each time the dream revisited him, it was if he was living that day all over again. Even if he were to use his omni to return there, he doubted the experience would be any more "real" than what he had seen in his dreams over and over for more than a decade. Closing his eyes, he remembered the feel of the Australian ground beneath his feet, the smell of the dry air. He'd literally stumbled over the soldiers after rounding the bend. He and Bogg had been lead away together, drawn into the story of yet another red light.

But that was then, and this was now. He had a new mission to complete.

Jeffrey exhaled slowly, calming himself. The dream was still a dream, and he was in no immediate danger now. He had relived those moments on the beach countless times in the last 13 years. That day in 1799 had defined him as a Voyager. He didn't know it at the time, of course, but the very thing that threatened him had crystallized his purpose. Now he was a driven man – full of ambition and fire – and known throughout the Voyager ranks as "Unstoppable Jones," right up there with the names of "Amazing Antonio" and "Wildman Wolfstein." Jeffrey Jones was one of the best Voyagers history had ever seen.

When he was 12, and brand new to voyaging, he'd still had a lot of learning to do. Phineas Bogg was a good mentor and friend, and at times he even took a fatherly role. Jeff would always be grateful for that. After the death of his own parents, he had been scared of going on without them – but as he spent more time with Bogg, those fears began to fade. Even his nightmares about losing them had started to recede from his consciousness. Then came the trial. Drake disappeared. Everything started to change. Jeff had a new source for his disturbed dreams.

Glancing around to make sure he was alone, he slid a small black leather notebook out of his back pocket. The edges were frayed from frequent consultation, and the pages were yellowed and stained with blood, sweat, and tears. He flipped through the pages, pausing to read his own notes on past voyages, each one ending in two victorious words: "Green Light!" To this day he had a habit of underlining them with a flourish, feeling vindicated each time he completed a mission.

He'd never shown the book to anyone, not even to Bogg, whose words he now read again on the inside of the back cover, where he had painfully and deliberately inscribed them over a decade before.

"_Wherever things are going off-course, there's a chance that Drake will be there."_

Those words fueled him with the power of a thousand suns; they gave him a passion beyond that of his Voyager colleagues. Everyone who knew him marveled at his natural abilities. He could recall the minutia of historical data with crystalline quality. The details others might dismiss as the harmless ebb and flow of time, Jeffrey had the capacity to extrapolate. He could play history forward in his mind like a movie; he could anticipate where its course would need correcting. Every professor in Voyager Headquarters expected that Jeffrey would one day do great things for the organization. His time as a field agent was short – they wanted him to train others to think as he did. There was talk that one day he might revolutionize the way that Headquarters evaluated and corrected history, making new Voyagers more precise, and indeed, more effective than ever.

Jeffrey had already turned down two "promotions." The offer to work on the inside didn't excite him, even if he had always held a love for teaching. For one thing, field work was in his blood. The thrill that had begun with his plummet from an eighth story window had continued through his days with Bogg in the field. He still felt a rush of pride every time the light turned green.

Yet, the real reason he wanted to stay a field worker was hidden in this small leather volume. He combed its pages now, checking and rechecking, looking for clues to tie his latest mission to his ongoing one. "Going after Drake" was not part of his official mandate from Headquarters, nor did they sanction individual field agents attempting to apprehend him. The standing order, should Drake be discovered while in the field, was to activate the beacon on your omni (all the newer models had one), and a supervisory agent would be dispatched as soon as possible to assess the situation. If Drake's presence could be confirmed, a team would move in to attempt his capture. "Attempt" was the key word; Jeff was aware of at least four failed operations to bring the rogue Voyager to justice. In fact, he had initiated one of them himself. After the retrieval team failed him, he began to reevaluate his strategy.

He turned to a page from just two years ago labeled "Spain, 1648" and read the mission details. He skimmed the notes, remembering flashes from the visit. _"Spanish military making weapons advancements too early…plans destroyed to prevent victory over Netherlands…suspect interference."_ If Jeffrey hadn't identified the cause of Spain's overwhelming domination, the Eighty Years' War would not have ended and the Dutch would not have won independence from the Spanish crown. He'd found advancements in their weaponry that should not have appeared for at least 100 years, which immediately made him suspicious. Later he attended the Peace of Münster in order to ensure the success of his mission, and it was there he spotted Drake from across the crowded hall. He immediately activated his omni beacon, and within an hour a team of Voyagers was combing the area – but they were too late. Jeffrey discovered that the rogue Voyager had supplied weapons technology to Spain in an effort to derail the course of European history. And he was glad to have stopped the plan; but the fact that Drake had escaped again left him with a bitter taste.

Something startled him out of his remembrance – a familiar noise. The distant whine like the dropping of bombs on a battleground was followed by a faint thud. Before he fully registered what was happening, Jeffrey closed his book and slid it deftly back into his rear pocket. Only when it was secure did he get to his feet and move to investigate.

His mind hadn't yet analyzed what he'd heard, but as he moved into the trees, he knew what he would find. A supervisory agent. Fantastic.

Since that day in 1648, when he'd lost Drake – yes he, Unstoppable Jones, had lost Drake – he'd expected a follow up visit from a supervisory agent. Surely they would want to get his recollections of the mission. Surprisingly, there had been very little debriefing when the retrieval team left him in 1648. Why had it taken almost two years for this interview to happen? All he had been asked was where and when Drake had been seen.

Jeffrey sighed to let out some of his aggravation. He didn't want to talk about it _now_. That day of failure burned in his consciousness with the fires of frustration and regret. He counted himself lucky that it was 1799, and not 1648, that replayed in his mind while he slept. At this point in his life, with all the wisdom and experience he'd gained in his 25 years, he knew one thing: if there was one day in his own past he could change, it would not be the day his parents died or the day he fell out of his bedroom window. It wouldn't be the day he left Bogg behind in the prison riot with Lawrence of Arabia, or the day he failed to convince the captain of the Titanic that the ship was going to sink.

It would be the day he let Drake slip away. _Again_.

And now, a supervisory agent was here to second guess him. As if he hadn't spent the last two years doing just that. And eleven years before that hoping for Drake's capture and punishment. Didn't they know how personally invested he was in this? Didn't they realize how much his history was tied to Drake's future?

Pushing his way past tree branches, Jeff resolved not to tell this agent anything. He wouldn't open up about his feelings. He wouldn't share about his own quest to find and capture Drake. He wouldn't show his notes. After all that had happened to him, he would rather be banished than let someone else tell him how to complete his mission. They obviously didn't know what they were doing where Drake was concerned. There was no one as closely connected to the infamous "legend" of the evil rogue Voyager as he was. No one, except maybe –

"Bogg!" he let out the yell before he could contain his shock. The last piece of shrubbery gave way into a small clearing and he embraced his mentor and friend.

"Hey, kid. Good to see you."

-x-

"What are you doing here?"

Bogg and Jeff were sitting back at Jeff's campsite, with a fire warming their feet and hands. They had spent the better part of the day talking of old times, and catching up on the last few years. They hadn't actually seen each other face to face since Jeff's Voyager "activation" ceremony – that was what they called it when a new Voyager completed his schooling. Jeff had been one of only six new Voyagers in his class, and he had been the only one immediately allowed into field work. It was a proud moment, but it had also meant that he wouldn't see Bogg or his Voyager classmates for a long time afterward.

The big grin that he had missed so much was his first reply. "I came for the mission, Jeff."

"But you retired from field work. I thought you had a job at Headquarters."

Bogg poked a stick into the fire and shrugged playfully. "Rumors of my retirement are greatly exaggerated."

"That's weird. I thought once you stopped being a field agent, you couldn't go back." Jeff thought of "Wildman" Isaac Wolfstein, who had chosen retirement in 1920s New York, unaware of the coming Great Depression. At first, all he had wanted was to get out and re-settle on a tropical island, and he had talked Bogg into taking him to one. Of course, that island had almost become a quick death for Isaac, since Bogg had mistakenly picked one which where a nuclear weapon would be tested the next day.

Eventually, they had returned Wildman to New York where he was comfortable – and in Jeffrey's mind avoided a serious reprimand from the Voyager tribunal. He learned later in Voyager school that there were few offenses more grievous than permanently displacing a person from their native time zone. Even though Isaac wasn't originally from 1920s New York, that was the zone he had chosen as his home. If they had succeeded in leaving him in another time, even if he'd been alone on an island, there could have been unintended repercussions in the timeline.

"C'mon kid, you know as well as I do that the rules aren't without their exceptions." Bogg had a thoughtful, even introspective look in his eye that Jeff hadn't seen very often. "In my case, it seemed like I was needed in the field. That's where I work best."

Jeffrey couldn't argue with that. But, something about the tone of Bogg's voice gave him pause. Confused, Jeff trained his eyes on Bogg's. "Why are you _needed_ in the field? I feel like I'm doing a pretty good job as a Voyager."

"You're doing a great job!" Bogg replied, maybe a little too quickly. Jeff hadn't expected Bogg to show up, but it would really get under his skin if Bogg was the supervisory agent that Headquarters had sent to interview him. He hoped that wouldn't turn out to be the case. "I saw reports of your first few missions, and I have to admit, even I was impressed. And I had been in the field with you for years."

Bogg's pride eclipsed any negativity threatening Jeff's mood, and he smiled in spite of himself. "Then what got you back out into the cosmos? And how did you end up here?"

The older Voyager took a swig of water from a small canteen Jeff had brought before continuing. "Jeff, something serious is going on with the timeline. The eighteenth and nineteenth centuries are getting pretty far off track. I've seen the analysis, and the red lights seem to point back to sometime around now. I knew you were headed here for a mission in 1607 and I thought I could meet up with you to see if you could help me. Have you seen anything wrong since you got here?"

Jeff shook his head. "I only got here about six hours before you. It was the middle of the night so I set up camp and got some sleep." He left the recurring dream out of his summary. "When you got here I hadn't even started to look for the cause of the red light." As he said it, he realized he had lost almost a day of work, and his face started to color.

"Hey, don't be embarrassed, kid," Bogg said with a smile. "That just means we'll have to figure it out together. You're here for something that's wrong in 1607, but according to the report I saw, it's part of a much bigger problem. That's what I'm trying to track down."

Jeff thought about it. "I haven't been in the eighteenth century or later for a long time now. My last three missions were BC era. But if there is a problem with history, you can count on my help."

"Now that," proclaimed Bogg with a smile, "is something I know I can always count on."

Jeff pulled out his omni, a much newer model than Bogg's dented old piece of brass. The top flipped open when he triggered it, and Bogg whistled through his teeth. Jeff smiled and offered his friend a look at the display, remembering how many times he strained to look over the older man's shoulder to see where and when they were. "It's 1607, which you know. It looks to me like we're in…Virginia." Jeff snapped his fingers. "Of course – Jamestown."

"Early American colony." Bogg looked sideways at him. "Right?"

On the inside, Jeff laughed at the familiar moment playing out between them. He had noticed that Bogg still wasn't carrying a guidebook, even though he himself had an electronic model in his pocket. As much as he might know about history, he couldn't possibly remember everything. Luckily, this time he knew enough to get started.

"Jamestown, Virginia was settled in 1607. The expedition was lead by Captain John Smith, who is famous for developing friendly relationships with the Native American Indians."

Bogg slapped his thighs and stood up. "Well then, let's start by finding Captain John Smith."

Jeff stood as well, giving Bogg a look the older man wasn't accustomed to. It almost looked like anger, but that wasn't exactly it. "Bogg, you know I'll be glad to help you, but this is my mission and I'd appreciate it if you let me call the shots."

Narrowing his eyes for just a moment, Bogg studied his friend. This man before him was no longer the boy he had been on so many voyages with. He'd grown; he'd changed. Bogg wondered how much. At any rate, Jeffrey Jones was a good Voyager, with a stack of green lights to his credit. He decided to back off.

"You got it, kid. It's your voyage, I'm just along for the ride to see what I can learn."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3 (Virginia, 1607)

Twigs crunching, birds singing, and the sound of water flowing in the distance wove together into a symphony of nature – a soundtrack for trekking through the forest. Bogg followed as close as he could to Jeffrey, who seemed at least to be going in a specific direction. He himself wasn't sure where to go, so he was happy to let his friend take the lead. As he watched the younger man moving through the woods, he thought about their time together in the field. They had done things neither one of them would have ever imagined, and helped more people than he could count; and young Jeffrey Jones had often been the one leading the way.

The 12 year old boy he had rescued from death by jumping out a high rise window had been destined to become a Voyager. He remembered the falling sensation vividly, although he experienced it again every time his omni took him to a new time zone, so it was easy to recall what had happened that night in 1982. At the time, he hadn't stopped to think about the boy's future, but he had been astonished to discover that their meeting had been Jeff's destiny. There was a thick file at Headquarters under the name of Jeffrey Jones, full of the good works he would accomplish as a time-traveler. He thought of names, dates, and places that had been or would still be changed by Jeff's involvement; yet, it had been almost 13 years since he had read the file himself. The only time he'd been allowed to see it was at his trial, when Jeff's future as a Voyager had been revealed.

They trudged along through the wooded hills, and Bogg smiled at the determination of his friend. There was work to be done, and Jeff wouldn't slow down or rest until it was done. That was why so many of the other Voyagers had taken to calling him "Unstoppable Jones." He watched as the kid – "_man_" now, he had to keep reminding himself – hopped over a fallen tree, which Bogg had to take an extra step to get over. There was a singular determination in his friend. He knew that Jeff was good at fixing history, but what kind of Voyager had he become? Time would have to tell.

"Jeffrey," Bogg called out, "do you know where we are? Or where we are supposed to go?"

"I have an idea," came the reply. "Jamestown was settled on a peninsula that extends out into the James River. I'm headed southeast until we find water, and we can scout from there."

The wind shifted slightly, bringing something to Bogg's attention. "Sounds like a plan, but maybe we'll get lucky sooner. Do you smell something?"

Jeff stopped moving and tilted his head. A moment later his eyes lit up. "Smoke!" He smiled. "Someone's got a fire going."

Bogg nodded his head. "And since we haven't seen anyone yet, we might get some answers faster if we can find that fire."

Looking around, Jeff tested the wind. He pointed north and said, "this way."

Chances were that Jeff would have sniffed out the fire without his help, but Bogg found himself defaulting to the role of mentor. He would have to be careful that he didn't step on any toes if he wanted this mission to be a positive one. His personal relationship with Jeff and his success as a Voyager might depend on it. But he found it difficult to switch off the part of himself that he had always drawn from so heavily in his voyages with Jeffrey, and later in his job at Headquarters.

While stationed at Headquarters, Bogg had been given the title of supervisory agent. On a daily basis, he was a trainer and a teacher, helping new potential Voyagers understand what it takes to help history along. For the past several years however, he had a dual role as part of the task force pursuing the only Voyager ever to have gone rogue. Supervisory agents never used to go out into the field much, but the actions of Drake had necessitated a new hands-on approach from higher levels of the Voyager ranks.

Time and experience told them that Drake had a plan to disrupt history, but they didn't know what his goal was. The two retrieval teams Bogg had lead to the time zones where Drake had been spotted hadn't turned up much to indicate his motivation. Of course Bogg knew that his biggest motive was revenge, but that didn't tell him what Drake's endgame might be. The reports from the other two failed retrieval attempts, including the one initiated by Jeffrey, were equally unhelpful. The task force was forced into a reactionary cycle of investigation, not knowing where Drake was operating until the damage had been done. By the time Drake was spotted, his plan had already been set in motion. And he was always able to flee the scene in time to avoid capture.

Hopefully, that was about to change.

As they approached a stream, Jeff stopped momentarily to take out his canteen and fill it. Taking a drink, he offered it to Bogg who thirstily took a few long gulps before crouching down to refill it again. When he had caught his breath a bit, Bogg decided to broach a new subject. "Do you ever think about that mission right after the trial? Australia?"

Jeffrey froze. Think about it? Sometimes all he did was think about it. Their landing on the beach, the conversation about Drake...the entire dream-replay came flooding back to his conscious mind. "Sure, I remember," he replied cautiously. "What about it?"

Bogg stood and took a step toward his friend. "It seemed to me like, after that, things changed between us."

"What do you mean by that?" Jeff replied, frowning. He had to look away from Bogg's intense blue eyes as he reclaimed the canteen from him.

"There were times when you seemed so distant," continued Bogg, "and except for that time in London with Nelly and Dr. Doyle, you never seemed to talk about Drake again."

Jeff sucked in a breath. Bogg _did_ want to talk about Drake. Why? And why now? Was it his friend or a supervisory agent talking? Jeff took a few seemingly thoughtful steps up the bank. Then, deliberately setting his face to keep things in the "friend" zone, he gave Bogg a slight smile as he looked back down at him. "Bogg, I always thought we were a great team in the field. We always got the job done, we always worked well together, and I'm thankful for everything you taught me. You don't need to worry about our relationship."

His young friend's words warmed Bogg's heart, but then, he had avoided part of the discussion. "That's really good to hear – but what about Drake?"

The repeated question sent a chill straight to Jeffrey's bones. No, it couldn't be – was his friend and mentor here to get in his way? Things were getting worse, and quick. Steeling himself, he kept his face expressionless as he sat down on a log. "Like you said, except for London, we didn't see him again."

"Until Spain in 1648."

So Bogg knew. And if he knew about the mission and the retrieval attempt, he must have seen the report. That report would only have been available to someone involved in the effort to capture Drake – or someone sent to investigate Jeffrey.

"Bogg," Jeff began, doing a fair imitation of his smart preteen attitude, "if I didn't know better, I'd say you haven't been completely honest with me."

Phineas sat down next to him, looking surprised. "Sure I have, kid. Everything I told you is true."

"But you haven't told me _everything_! You're here to talk to me about Drake, aren't you?

The quickness of Jeff's temper caught Bogg off-guard. He'd always been an emotional kid, but the outburst seemed unbefitting of a 25 year old.

Before Bogg could say anything, Jeffrey sprung to his feet and barreled on. "I knew it! I knew this wasn't a coincidence. You're here because HQ wants to debrief me about Drake, and they chose you to interview me!" He whirled to face the older man and took an accusatory step forward. "I can't believe it. My best friend is here to give me the third degree about why I failed! That's it, isn't it?" Jeffrey spun and threw his canteen against a tree. Then he trained his eyes back on his former mentor. "Tell me, Bogg!"

Stunned, Bogg tried to understand what was happening behind Jeff's cold black gaze. He had never seen the kid react this way before. Maybe his concerns were warranted after all. Hoping his mission wasn't doomed to fail, he resolved to tell Jeff the truth. It was time to lay the cards on the table and see if this hand went his way.

Everything about Jeffrey's body language was telling him to stay away, but he desperately wanted to get through to his friend. He stood and slowly approached his friend with arms spread open. "Jeffrey, have I ever lied to you?"

Jeff bit his lip, and his dark eyes darted back and forth. "No – at least I don't think so."

"I haven't. And I believe you've never lied to me."

Although he had at one time omitted a few reckless teenage moments with a girl in eighteenth century Paris, Jeffrey didn't think this was a good time to admit it. "That's right."

"Then I hope you understand when I say that I think I know you pretty well – maybe better than anyone else does." Bogg gently placed his hand on Jeff's shoulder. A long moment passed as he searched behind his friend's face for a connection. "I'm here for _you_."

Jeff shrugged off Bogg's arm and backed a half step away, rejecting his friend's intentions. "What do you mean?"

"I mean – I'm worried about you. I have been, ever since Australia."

"But I told you, we're fine," Jeff replied, turning away.

"And I believe you, Jeffrey." Bogg took a long stride to come up beside him. "But I know how much the trial bothered you, and you were so young, and –"

"Bogg," Jeff warned, walking aimlessly away from him.

"When we lost Drake in London, I saw how bitter it made you –"

"Okay, Bogg." The younger man's voice stretched taut.

"And I know that you've been trying to use your time in the field to find him –" Bogg jumped directly into his path and faced him, "and I know how you must feel about losing him in Spain –"

Suddenly, Jeffrey Jones shot forward and wrapped his left hand full of Bogg's loose fitting shirt. His face twisted into a snarl as he pulled the two of them forcefully together and his eyes finally connected with Bogg's. "_Don't_."

The electricity coming off of Jeffrey's body was sending pins and needles across Bogg's chest and down his arms. He couldn't breathe. His eyes glanced down to see Jeff's right hand balled into a menacing, trembling fist at his side. Silence stretched time out to a standstill he had never experienced in all his years of voyaging, and Bogg found himself near tears. How had he pushed this man, who he cared about so deeply, into such a chasm of rage, and so quickly?

After a minute – or was it a millennium? – Jeffrey's hold loosened and he pushed Phineas back. Although he was only 25, Jeff suddenly looked a great deal older. Sadness as wide as the ocean flooded his face when he looked into Bogg's eyes. "I'm sorry, Bogg." Bogg stepped in, wanting to embrace his friend, but Jeff turned away again. "I don't want to talk about it." For a moment, the only sound was the stream at their feet. "Can we just," he asked weakly, "work on the red light?"

Bogg exhaled. All or nothing, he told himself. "The red light really is the reason I'm here. But the reason I brought all this up with you is because," he braced himself, "we think the red lights are pointing back to Drake's involvement in the timeline." At this, he expected Jeff's balled up fist to come flying his way, but instead he was met with a gasp.

Not looking back at Bogg, Jeff's eyes grew wide. "You think Drake is _here_?" Could he be closer than he thought?

"Well, no, probably not here. But this may be the earliest we can find out what he's been doing." Bogg turned Jeffrey by the shoulder to look him in the eyes again. "I'm part of the team that's been working on this; we're trying to bring Drake to justice. If this red light points to him, it will be a breakthrough. I knew you would be able to figure it out, so I came to get your help."

Jeff let go of the breath he hadn't realized he was holding. He was relieved to hear that he seemed to be on the right track. But could he continue with his plan, now that Bogg was along for the trip?

"So you're not here to grill me about 1648?"

"Hey, kid," Bogg said, managing half of his normally lustrous smile, "you know interrogation isn't my style." He let go of Jeff and walked over to where the dented canteen lay. "But if there's anything you know that could help the team track down Drake," he said over his shoulder as he bent down, "just tell me, and I'll make sure we get everyone working on it right away."

Jeffrey knew that there were some incredibly bright minds at Voyager HQ, and he knew that they wanted Drake found. He just didn't believe they were the ones best suited to do it.

Bogg offered Jeff back his canteen. He returned Bogg's half-smile and said, "Sure thing."

-x-

Within a half hour, the smell of smoke became measurably stronger, although the source was quite a bit further than they might have guessed. The campfire was down in a valley and the wind had carried the smell at least a mile to where they first detected it. Picking their way among the evergreens lining the ridge, they descended to find a riverbed with sedimentary stones lining its shores in various shapes and sizes. The water level was low enough to wade across to where they could see a line of gray smoke rising behind the first few trees a short distance away.

The rocks crunched under their feet as they came out of the water, neither of them having gotten wet much above the knees. They stopped to shake the water out of their boots and Bogg looked at his partner. Jeffrey had barely looked at him on the last leg of the hike, and they had exchanged few words. An ache deepened in Bogg's stomach. He hadn't wanted to strain their relationship, but he knew that if he hadn't told Jeff about his mission –

_BOOM! Zing!_ Without thinking, Bogg and Jeffrey dove for cover behind the same beached log. "Are we getting _shot_ at?" Bogg asked incredulously.

Poking his head out for a look, Jeff replied, "C'mon Bogg, it can't have been _that_ long since you were in the field." He jerked back as another shot thudded into their makeshift barrier. "Definitely getting shot at," he declared in a more serious tone. "The good news is that in the seventeenth century they would be using single-shot weapons that take some time to reload, so if there are only one or two guys out there we should be able to get to them if we move fast."

"Great, so when do we – Jeffrey!" Bogg yelled as Jeff sprang from their hiding place and took off running. "Sometimes you still give me a pain," he muttered, before taking in a deep breath and jumping up to follow. Jeff was running a zigzag pattern that would bring him to the treeline in the general vicinity of the smoke; Bogg made a wide arc to the left, hoping that splitting up would increase their chances.

Another gunshot rang out and both men redirected toward the telltale puff of smoke from the bushes. Jeff got there first, crashing through the brush at top speed. Bogg heard scuffling as he crossed the last ten feet, and parted the branches to find Jeffrey pinning down a young man about his same age. "Why were you shooting at us?" Jeff demanded, holding the man's head against the dirt.

"I thought you were..._ugh_...Indians!" the man grunted.

"Alright Jeff, let the guy up," Bogg said. He took note of the musket and pistol lying on the ground a few feet away; the young man didn't appear to be much of a threat without them.

Still breathing hard, Jeffrey leaned back off of his captive and stood. The man hopped up, brushing himself off. It seemed like he was trying to appear unfazed, yet when he buttoned his jacket his fingers trembled. Bogg decided to make the first attempt at friendly conversation.

"I'm Phineas Bogg, this here is Jeffrey Jones." He held out his hand to shake, and the young man took it limply.

"Pierre."

The fire hadn't yet completely gone out of Jeff's eyes as he asked, "what are you doing out here shooting at whoever comes along?"

Pierre stood as straight as he could manage and said, "I am charged with the safety of the colony. There is no one out here in the countryside except for Indian savages."

A confused look crossed Jeffrey's face. "You're guarding the colony of Jamestown?"

Pierre eyed them suspiciously. "What is this Jamestown colony? I am a member of the French Colonial Infantry and I live in the colony of Saint Denis, New France."

"You're _French_?" Jeff threw his friend a concerned look. "Bogg – "

"I know kid, that sounds like a red light to me."

Pierre tried to finish putting himself back together as the two Voyagers withdrew to a huddle about ten feet away. "The French aren't supposed to be here. In 1607 they didn't have any settlements anywhere near here – the east coast belonged to the British from now until the United States declared independence."

Bogg looked back at Pierre and his French uniform. "Well, the French are here now." He turned back to face Jeff with a look of consternation. "We need to find out what happened to the people who are supposed to be here."

Jeffrey nodded. "And the first person on that list is Captain John Smith."

A few feet away, Pierre perked up momentarily, then went back to reloading his pistol. Suddenly, he turned to the Voyagers and hissed, "quiet!"

The two of them crept forward to see what had caught Pierre's attention. Between the leaves, they glimpsed some movement in the riverbed. Jeff pulled back a branch to get a clearer look. About 10 yards downstream and moving up toward the campfire smoke was a single Indian scout on horseback. As Jeff turned to ask Pierre a question, he saw the Frenchman heft his musket to his shoulder and take aim. "Wait –" was all he could say before the weapon went off.

Bogg leapt to his feet. "What are you _doing_?" Jeff was right behind him.

Pierre said nothing to his visitors, but hopped out of his hide and strode purposefully over to where the Indian had fallen off his horse. He drew a hunting knife and, before the Voyagers could say or do anything, he quickly sliced off the back of the Indian's scalp including his tied-back hair.

Rage flashed in Jeffrey's eyes as his whole body coiled for a charge at the young gunman. But just as he was about to take flight, Bogg put a strong hand in the middle of his chest. "I know, Jeff – I feel the same way," he turned to face the younger man with determination in his eyes, "but we have to go back and fix the problem. If we can do that, this will never have happened."

Jeff huffed another half dozen breaths before he could calm himself down even a bit. He watched Pierre picking through the Indian's belongings. "We have to find out what caused this," he said finally through clamped lips. "Pierre can take us where we need to go."

Phineas took his hand away, for a moment reminded of how Jeff had grabbed his own shirt. He was glad that his friend was thinking logically, but didn't want to give the man any reason to get physical again. Even though Jeff's anger wasn't aimed at him, he now knew how close it was to the surface. He shifted his gaze to see Pierre returning to the campfire with his findings.

Closing his eyes to center himself, Jeff approached the man to learn the whereabouts of his colony. The Frenchman turned out to be perfectly willing to take them, since he needed to turn in his "trophies" anyway. In a few minutes, the two Voyagers were headed toward town, with the Frenchman leading the way.

Jeffrey hoped restraining himself had been worth it. He wanted to kill the man.


End file.
